The Wedding of the Decade
by Mistressdickens
Summary: The wedding of Charles Carson to Elsie Hughes. Lots of feels. Pure fluff. Do I even need to write a description?
1. Preparations

**A/N: Skipping all the arguments we're sure to see and getting right to the day in question. This is just my little wish of how things will turn out. I may have been a little harsh on the blessed Lady Mary, but if she's going to be causing trouble, I can't see why I shouldn't! This was written before I saw episode 2. I'd intended on getting it up before it aired, but real life …. So yeah, maybe some spoilers, but I'm not an oracle nor Fellowes' assistant, so I doubt it.**

 **Ch 1: Preparations**

Having become accustomed to early starts from her youth, Elsie Hughes found she was unable to make an exception on the one day it did not matter and therefore found herself wide awake well before the dawn, which, being April, would not happen for another hour. Luxuriating in the lack of need to spring from beneath the covers, she instead reached out an arm for the lamp beside her bed and simply laid there, smiling a little, allowing memories from the last twenty years to flood her mind.

She was not at all nervous, she found, as she wallowed in the warmth of her bed. Indeed, she wondered how she could ever have allowed herself to indulge the concerns that had almost scuppered the relationship before it had properly started. She felt a pang of guilt at the heartbreak she had inflicted, but set it aside with customary determination, knowing that they were stronger for the misunderstanding. They were more able to express themselves than she had thought they would be before the wedding – indeed she blushed to remember some of their more tender moments.

Seeing that the patch of sky available through her window was lightening, she determined to see what the day held for her. Getting out of bed, she pulled on her dressing down, running her hand over the heather by her bed – a little ritual which had started when she was seven and assured her (albeit ironically sometimes) that the day would be lucky. Slightly frustrated by the lack of eye level windows in her room, she stood on her chair to peer through the skylight.

From what she could ascertain, it had not rained during the night, for which she was profoundly grateful. The sun did not seem inclined to put in an appearance, but she found she did not really mind – indeed she felt that a perfectly sunny day would not suit her in the slightest. The perfection of it was more appropriate to grander ladies than herself. This day was far more suitable for a Scottish farmer's daughter. She only hoped Mr Carson would not be inclined to fret on her account. But then, he knew her better than that. Much better.

Turning carefully on the chair to grasp the back so she could climb down, she spied a small square of white just in front of the door. It had not been there when she went to bed. Crossing to the door, she bent to pick it up. It was an envelope addressed to 'The Beautiful Miss Hughes'.

She would know the handwriting anywhere. He had his own key to the connecting door in the corridor and had obviously let himself through for a moment – unless Mrs Patmore had been called upon to reprise her role as go-between, which she didn't think very likely. She was highly tickled by the fact that he still refused to use her first name (although it had slipped out on occasion recently) but that he'd seen fit to remind her that for a few more hours the title of Mrs was not legally hers. That neither of them had the least idea of the happiness they were about to share, even if both of them could lay a claim to the emotion.

She sat on the edge of her bed turning the small envelope in her hands and then firmly pulled the flap open and removed the note, looking down upon the handwriting so familiar to her.

 _Dearest,_

 _Tradition dictates we be hidden from each other until 11. I find I'm a little put out at tradition. I might even be breaking the rules with this note, but I couldn't care less. I simply wanted to wish you good morning as I won't have the chance and it might look a little odd in church. I love you Elsie. I am unable to stop smiling when I think you'll be my wife in a few hours and we can share the rest of our lives together._

 _I love you, I am yours_

 _Charles_

The words were simple but they spoke to her on a deep level, for they were the truest she had ever read and reciprocated in full force. She did not know what she had done to deserve Charles Carson, but she felt absolutely blessed to have him in her life.

Her thoughts were interrupted by a brief knock at the door, Anna and Mrs Patmore entering upon her invitation.

'To what do I owe the pleasure?' She smiled at them, slightly perplexed that she already had visitors.

'It couldn't have something to do with the fact you're getting married could it?' scoffed Mrs Patmore, rolling her eyes at Anna.

Mrs Hughes chuckled slightly, indulging in a little eye roll herself. 'Yes Mrs Patmore, I've not quite lost my memory, you know. But I'd assumed I'd be left alone to dress and _then_ be inundated with visitors more flustered than myself. Where is my dress anyway, Anna?'

Anna smiled at this enquiry, knowing that the creation of the dress had been something of a herculean task, both to get right and keep a secret from Mr Carson.

'Well, that lead us to why we're here, Mrs Hughes. Lady Mary wondered if you'd like to use the Gold room to prepare? I hung the dress there last night, but it can easily be brought up here if you prefer.'

Mrs Hughes frowned. 'I …' she started to speak and then fell silent as she considered the offer. Lady Mary had gone out of her way recently to be generous since she had managed to incur Mr Carson's disappointment. She was so adamant about not feeling like a servant on this of all days that a refusal would make no sense. She gave a nod of agreement to Anna who beamed back in delight.

'We can go down now. Mr Carson has already left for Dr Clarkson's, so there's no danger of running into him on the stairs.'

The three women shared a short laugh and then made sure they would have all the things Mrs Hughes might need to prepare. She left her case full of things for their short break (she hardly dared call it a honeymoon) on the bed to collect later, but slipped some heather into it on a last minute whim. Luck on the wedding night would be needed, she was sure, even if neither of them were truly nervous.

Entering the Gold room a few minutes later, Mrs Hughes saw a breakfast tray laid out on the dressing table, Miss Baxter adding a small bunch of buttercups to it. The warmth of the smile the lady's maid sent her was charged with emotion but it was quickly dispelled by the practical words that were directed to her.

'We thought you'd like to have breakfast in private and a relax in the bath, if you wish.', Miss Baxter said, sharing a look with Mrs Patmore. 'That new maid is entirely too curious.'

Mrs Hughes huffed slightly, although she was more amused than irritated. 'Whatever her faults, it cannot be denied that Madge was impeccably silent in the mornings.'

Mrs Patmore shifted her feet in a show of awkward impatience and then clapped her hands together. 'We'll be back at nine thirty to help you get ready.' The three women all trooped out and, picking up a piece of toast to nibble on, Mrs Hughes went to run a bath.

Some while later and the calm atmosphere of the Gold room had shifted somewhat as Anna flew around Mrs Hughes, tweaking hemlines at Mrs Patmore's orders before she started to think about a suitable hairstyle.

'Something slightly looser than normal, but which will withstand some dancing' Mrs Hughes replied to Anna's enquiry, as she stood in the middle of the room trying to keep still whilst her emotions made her want to pace about in excitement. With only an hour to go, the butterflies were gathering in the pit of her stomach and she wished she could be on her way.

She wondered if any bride had been early for their wedding.

A knock at the door drew her attention and Miss Baxter popped her head around it. Her eyes widened, however, and she moved fully through the entrance. 'Oh, Mrs Hughes!'

Instantly concerned, Mrs Hughes attempted to turn (earning a hiss from Anna) so she could find what was wrong with her attire. 'What is it? What's wrong?'

'Nothing's wrong you daft woman!' laughed Mrs Patmore. 'Miss Baxter's reaction is something you're going to have to get used to. Particularly from Mr Carson.'

Mrs Hughes waved her hands distractedly. 'Flattery, Mrs Patmore, has no place in this room. Did you need me Miss Baxter?'

Miss Baxter nodded, taking a firm grip of her emotions. 'Her ladyship and Lady Mary wondered if they might come in and see you. They said to stress you weren't to feel obligated.'

Mrs Hughes _did_ feel obliged to allow them into a room they owned, but decided it wasn't worth the effort to think up an excuse and so merely nodded at Miss Baxter, whilst Mrs Patmore let her own feelings be known by emitting a low grumble in the corner. She had witness the effect of Lady Mary's high handed approach to the organisation of the wedding on the burgeoning relationship between her friends and found it difficult to forget. But then she wasn't the one marrying Lady Mary's champion.

A moment or two later the door swung open again. Cora and Mary walked tentatively into the room, each clearly anxious not to intrude. Mrs Hughes willed herself to keep eye contact, not really accustomed to being on show and was therefore startled to see the eyes of her employers shining with unshed tears. Cora looked absolutely delighted, but Mary's gaze faltered and she contemplated the carpet for a moment or two before taking a breath and look at the woman who Anna was still fussing over.

'You were quite right Mrs Hughes. The grey is perfect and the style is ever so becoming.'

Mrs Hughes couldn't bring herself to speak for fear her voice might crack. There had been an almighty battle over her wedding dress. Whilst she had appreciated the generous offer of the family to buy the fabric, she resented Mary's assumption it also gave her the right to dictate how it should look. In the end Cora had forced Mary to understand that her high handed manner was more hindrance than help, and reminded her that her recent actions had not shown her to bee perceptive to the needs of others.

The debacle over Marigold was still fresh and Mary had taken a less active role since then, although she hadn't apologised. This was therefore the nearest she had come. Mrs Hughes merely inclined her head in thanks and wondered, a trifle desperately, if Anna had finished with her hair.

Cora, sensing the highly emotional atmosphere, stepped forward, smiling one of her trademark fond smiles. 'How are you feeling Mrs Hughes? Any nerves?'

Mrs Hughes shook her head but was unable to speak before Mrs Patmore burst out with her own opinion.

'She's as cool as the wine cellar in January. It's the rest of us whose nerves are shot to pieces and too emotional to do more than boil an egg!'

Laughter sounded from the company. 'Careful Beryl' Mrs Hughes said, using the cook's first name deliberately, 'It wouldn't do to wake the Queen of Scots, she's been fairly silent these last twelve years!'

More laughter rang out, although Cora and Mary looked a touch bemused. Mrs Hughes sighed slightly, the nerves everyone assumed she was feeling starting to set in. It was the waiting that was the killer, she decided. Or perhaps the keen attention that was focussed on her. She wished Anna would stop fussing. She started to rub her thumb along the back of her hand and let out a small huff of frustration.

Cora, who recognised the signs of a bride anxious to see her groom once again sought to calm her valued housekeeper. 'Do you have everything you need? Something old …?'

'Oh, yes, I think I do your ladyship. The old are the shoes. Beryl do you …' the question was left incomplete as she was silently handed a sixpence by her friend who, after her initial jokes, looked like she was struggling to hold back tears. It was passed to Anna who knelt to push it into the left shoe.

'Something new is the dress. Blue are the forget-me-nots in my bouquet, and as for something borrowed … well, I'm sure one of you could lend me a handkerchief. I have a feeling I may need it.'

'Oh, I think we can do better than that.' smiled Cora, beckoning Miss Baxter over, who drew a box from her pocket. 'This was Robert's first gift to me after we were married. I'd be thrilled if you wore them.' Seeing that Mrs Hughes's hands trembled too much, Cora opened the box to reveal two silver combs inlaid with mother of pearl and moonstones.

She was overcome and looked at Cora in bewilderment. 'I'm not sure I deserve such fine ornaments.'

'The gulf between what you think you deserve and what the rest of us believe is wider than the Atlantic Ocean. Please wear them and know they come with my very best wishes.'

Mrs Hughes didn't trust herself to voice her thanks, so turned to Anna instead. 'Can you find a place to put them? I hope you don't need to redo the style.'

'Not a chance' grinned Anna brightly. 'Her ladyship let me in on the secret, so I planned around them.' Swiftly the combs were placed at the back of the delicately wound twists Anna had put her hair into and then a hush fell on the room.

'I do believe you are ready Mrs Hughes.' Anna said, drawing her closer to the mirror so she should have the full effect of the last hour's work.

She wondered who the woman was who stared back. It certainly wasn't her, not the woman in late middle age who felt her looks were a thing of the past. The cut of the dress was as flattering as she could have ever hoped; the neckline was higher than Anna had originally suggested, but there was still more of her neck revealed than ever before. The grey tones of the fabric did not drain her, as Lady Mary had starkly declared they would do, but highlighted the rosy tone of her cheeks and the warm auburn of her hair, which seemed to echo the style she had worn during the war, but which framed her face in a softer manner than before.

She was a woman not a housekeeper and that was clear beyond a shadow of a doubt from the image she saw in the mirror. 'Thank you' she said lowly, not really sure, in that moment who she was thanking.

The various women in the room stirred themselves at her words. Each of them had been lost in contemplation as they watched her, but not they realised the time and all but Mrs Patmore melted away as they left to travel to the church.

Mrs Hughes took one last look at her reflection and then moved to put on her gloves, which matched the dress exactly. Turning to face her friend, she found that Mrs Patmore wore a very serious look.

'Will I do, do you think?'

'Do?!' exploded Mrs Patmore. 'You're a vision, and if I weren't that afraid of creasing you, I'd give you such a hug!'

'I think I can cope with one embrace Beryl' she answered seriously, reaching out to draw the other woman into her arms. It was the closest they had ever been, but neither felt awkward. Change was afoot and they both sought to reassure the other that their friendship would withstand the shift.

It was time to leave for the church. Mrs Hughes gathered her bouquet and cast a quick glance about the room to ensure she had everything, then followed Mrs Patmore out of the door and along the gallery to the main staircase. Concern caused her to voice an enquiry as to the propriety, but was silenced by a glare from Mrs Patmore.

'I've had me orders. And if her ladyship or Mr Carson find out you disobeyed, I'm not sure which of us will be in more trouble.'

There was nothing for it but to glide down the magnificent stairs, sweep across the grand hall and go out through the main doors to the waiting car.

Five minutes later it drew up outside the church where Dr Clarkson stood waiting for her. He was to lead her down the aisle to her new life.

'Ready' Mrs Patmore whispered

'Absolutely' Mrs Hughes replied, smiling broadly and squeezing her friend's hand briefly as the cook got out of the car and hurried up the path to the church to take her place in the front pew.

The car door had remained open and Dr Clarkson stretched out a hand to assist her. 'You look lovely Mrs Hughes.'

'Thank you' she said as she stepped out of the car. The minute she straightened up, she heard a sound which was intensely familiar yet so unexpected she gasped in shock.

'Bagpipes?!' she enquired of the doctor who winked at her and pointed to the doorway of the church, where a bagpiper had indeed come into view.

She felt the tears spring into her eyes as she marvelled at the fact she was about to marry a man who was still able to surprise her. Taking Dr Clarkson's arm, she took shaky yet determined steps towards the church in which stood the man she would pledge herself to.

Inside, Charles Carson heard the bagpipes and smiled broadly. His bride was about to arrive.

 **A/N: OHMYGOD …. Ok, this was written before episode 2 (as I said before) but ALSO before all those amazing pictures, ARGH! I've been slightly cannonballed by them, but I'm sticking to what I wrote. I was trying to remember the BTS pictures from April, where I was fairly sure she was wearing worn brown shoes, so went with that.**

 **I intend this to be a three parter, but I'm not sure if I'll be able to write and/or get the other two chapters up by Sunday. I'm going to Greece, so I'll probably miss the episode when it airs, unless I can find decent wifi, so whatever I write is going to be my head canon ….. Oh god, I don't know how I'm still functioning!**

 **Reviews would be lovely!**


	2. The Wedding

**Ch2: The Wedding**

 **A/N: Desperately trying not to be swayed by the pictures we've seen. Still flailing. This got away from me. I couldn't stop. I'm still obsessed with Elsie's hair and their hands. As if you couldn't tell. Apologies for any errors. I read these things, and think they are fine, and then go back after I've posted and find perfectly obvious things.**

It took all Mr Carson's will power, when he awoke on the morning of his wedding, not to rush through the dividing door of the corridor and wake Mrs Hughes, just so he could say good morning. He had already chanced his luck and slipped the note under her door at about one am, and that, he firmly told himself, would have to do.

Pulling back his curtains, he frowned slightly when he realised it would not be sunny, wanting to present her with the best possible day he could, and then chuckled to himself at the thought he could control the weather. He might be a very good butler, but he was not God.

Dressing took very little time, even if the suit was new and the tie not his usual style. He hurried down to the servant's hall to find Mrs Patmore already clanking around the kitchen, setting things up for Daisy. She looked up as he paused in the kitchen door and smiled.

'There's the man of the moment! Did you want anything to eat?'

'I'm not sure I'd be able to, Mrs Patmore. At any rate, Doctor Clarkson said he'd be happy to provide. I'd best be off. Wouldn't want an accidental meeting on the stairs.'

'You're not _walking?!'_

His reply was cut off by a voice behind him.

'If he does, my job might be on the line.'

Mr Carson turned to find Mr Bates behind him, still in his overcoat, Anna just visible in the passage behind him. 'His Lordship said to tell you the car was at your disposal.'

He frowned. He had been perfectly happy at the thought of a walk, but there was no sense in getting his shoes dusty, and so he agreed.

'On one condition', he turned towards Mrs Patmore. 'Mrs Hughes should use the main stairs. I've already mentioned it to her Ladyship, so don't let her fight you.'

'Duly noted' Mrs Patmore answered, smiling and then nodded through the door at Anna who was hovering expectantly. 'I'd best be off to see how you're bride is fairing!'

'Tell her', he started to speak and then couldn't think of any message which could convey what he was feeling. 'No, never mind. I'll tell her myself in a few hours.'

Mrs Patmore rolled her eyes slightly but shot him a smile before moving out of the kitchen.

A couple of hours or so later (Charles was desperately attempting not to check his watch every five minutes) the groom was sitting at Doctor Clarkson's dining table nursing a cup of coffee, quietly running through the last twenty years of memories, seeing every interaction with the housekeeper in an entirely new light. One memory kept reoccurring and he turned to the doctor, who had just re-entered the room with the finishing touch to Charles's outfit, seeking reassurance he didn't really need.

'I, erm, wanted to ask you something, although I know you won't be able to speak in specifics. I … well, is Elsie's health …?'

He left the question unfinished and paused to wonder what had made him use her first name when he had refused to do so at every other possible opportunity, but then found all he really cared about was the answer he might get.

Doctor Clarkson smiled at him benevolently. 'I shouldn't really answer even in vague terms, but it is your wedding day. As far as I know she is perfectly healthy.' The doctor presented him with his boutonniere and prepared to leave the room again, pausing only to lay a hand on Charles's shoulder. 'Of course, the benefit of being married to her is that she won't shut you out, and you won't need to play sleuth with me and Mrs Patmore!' He paused, scratching his nose in contemplation. 'Well, maybe not – she is a stubborn Scot after all!'

What that portion of Scottish humour dispensed, he left the room, leaving Charles to check his watch once more.

The half hour between his arrival at the church and the time the ceremony was due to start was the longest of his life, as he paced about the front of the church as guests trickled in past him. Doctor Clarkson had walked with him to the church, but had left him at the door so he could be on hand to perform his next duty. He'd paused to rest a hand on Charles's shoulder once more and given it a little shake along with a smile to remind him to keep calm.

Although Charles nodded his understanding, he didn't think he would truly be at peace until he saw his bride. He tried not to let his fears, which had been accumulating in the last hour, overtake him, but he couldn't help but wonder if all the drama of the past weeks might not have pushed her over the edge. Visions of Anthony Strallen filled his head.

He sighed, and gave himself a mental shake. She was stronger than that and he was foolish to doubt her. Turning, he entered the church and strode down the aisle to where Lord Grantham, his best man, awaited him. Once there, however, he couldn't help being drawn back to his thoughts once more, and stared at a crack in the stone floor, his mind whirling.

'When I was waiting for Cora, I was convinced she'd changed her mind.' Robert's quiet voice cut through his worries.

'Why would she have done than Milord?'

'Because Mama had managed to say something very unpleasant and we'd argued. I'd foolishly defended Mama even though I didn't agree with what she'd said. I sent a note to apologise on the morning of the wedding, but I wasn't sure she'd come until the organ started the wedding march.'

Robert paused, trying to gauge the emotions of the man next to him.

'What I'm trying to say Carson is that the Crawley women can be very trying, a little determined things should go their way and very difficult to say no to, but love like we have can withstand the stress.'

He looked at Robert in surprise at the highly personal words. It was the nearest Robert had come to apologising for his daughter and the proffered olive branch was much appreciated. 'Thank you' he murmured, not entirely sure he could find more fitting words. The butler would have been able to come up with some apposite analogy, but the man who stood there was too filled with the emotion of the day.

Behind him, the church was filling up. He turned and caught the eye of Mrs Crawley and the Dowager. Isobel smiled warmly at him, whilst Violet simply kept eye contact as she inclined her head in some sort of silent blessing. The gesture gave him strength and quietened his nerves. In front of her, George waved fiercely whilst Lady Edith tried to get him to stop bouncing up and down as she sat with Marigold on her knee who was staring about the church in fascination.

Charles followed her example and let his gaze run over the rest of the church, taking in every detail so that he could relate them to Elsie later on, in case she was too nervous to take things in on her journey down the aisle. He thought the flowers were particularly splendid, and not as ornate as she had feared they might become. There were certainly less than had filled the church on the occasion of Lady Mary or Edith's weddings, but he liked them for their infrequency. They felt more personal somehow.

Movement at the back of the church caught his eye and he saw Lady Grantham, Lady Mary, Anna and Miss Baxter enter together. They separated to take their places in the pews – the Grantham ladies on his side, the two ladies maid's on hers – a plan she had suggested, reasoning that the upstairs folk meant far more to him, were indeed the only family he felt like owning to. All four of them sent him wide smiles as they took their seats. He smiled inwardly, knowing that they had been the last to see Elsie, and they evidently knew something he didn't.

His spirits soared as he realised that it also meant she was on her way. She would be with him, at the front of this church which they had attended for the last twenty years. They would be together soon.

A few minutes later Mrs Patmore also entered and walked very quickly to the front pew to join Daisy. She seemed to be dabbing away tears already, but he hardly registered the fact, because as she took her place the sound of bagpipes filled his ears.

Beside him, Robert groaned quietly, but Charles did not care because it signalled a moment of great importance and he couldn't stop the wide smile breaking out. Thankfully only Mr Travis saw it, for he had faced the front. He hoped Elsie was delighted by the surprise. He had suddenly realised just how _English_ the ceremony was, apart from the heather which graced his buttonhole, and although she hadn't mentioned anything, he wanted to acknowledge her Scottish heritage. It was one of the things he loved most about her after all. Aside from her hair, her eyes, her hands ….

The sound of the wedding march replacing the bagpipes drew him from his mental calculation of her attributes abruptly. She was here!

The congregation rose and within the melee he discerned the sound of the doors being opened. He missed the jangle which normally accompanied her step, momentarily panicked that it was an imposter, before remembering she would have, of course, dispensed with the chatelaine for today.

He took a deep breath and turned to see her progress down the aisle.

He was floored by the woman who walked, indeed seemed to float, towards him. His training ensured his jaw did not gape open, but it was a close run thing, and he could not help the tears which sprang into his eyes. They were glistening in hers too, and she looked straight at him as she made her way to the alter, acknowledging none of the guests, just him. It was a sacred moment and the entire congregation was acutely aware of the love being communicated by look alone between the two people who had eyes only for each other.

Time seemed to be suspended as he looked at her. He had never seen her wearing that shade of grey, but he immediately decided it was his favourite colour on her. She walked as she had always done, steadily and with purpose, and he wondered if he imagined the slight sway of her hips. The blush on her cheeks, however, suggested it was deliberate. And her hair …. He had never told her how much he admired the way she styled it, nor how he longed to feel it running through his fingers. Even now he could voice such thoughts he kept them to himself, fearing she might think him silly. He would get his chance tonight though, and a thrill ran through him as he thought of all the things he would say (and do, the teasing voice in his head reminded him) when they were finally alone. The way her hair framed her face was wonderful. He couldn't stop staring.

For her part, as she clutched the arm of Doctor Clarkson, she couldn't remember the aisle of the church being so long. She felt the numerous pairs of eyes on her, but looked neither left nor right as she took care to place one foot in front of the other. The one pair of eyes she sought were turned away and for a second she wondered if he would turn, or if he felt it more proper to face the other way. Then, just as she had resigned herself to the fact he wouldn't, she found that his eyes were on her, and she almost lost her balance. She felt the entire congregation melt away as his gaze was trained on her. There was only them. Beryl had said she was a vision, and her own perusal of the mirror had revealed some of the truth to her, but it was only now that she fully felt it. Beautiful in his eyes indeed.

All these impressions were the work of moments. In no time at all she was at his side and smiling up at him. He could not help taking her hand and placing a kiss on her gloved knuckles.

'Hello' he whispered and was rewarded by an amused smile.

'Thank you' she answered, inkling her head to the back of the church.

'Dearly beloved, we are gather here ….' Mr Travis's voice cut through the moment and they refocussed their attention to him, turning so that they faced him fully.

The vows were quickly reached. No one came to claim an impediment and the service ran smoothly on until Mr Travis invited them to turn to each other and instructed Charles to take his bride's hands and 'repeat after me.'

'I Charles Earnest take thee Elsie May to be my wedded wife.'

It was impossible not to share a wide smile as this last word crossed his lips.

'To have and to hold from this day forward, for better or worse, for richer, for poorer.'

He quirked an eyebrow at her as he finished speaking, silently telling her cared nothing for the fact she had no worldly wealth, because what she did give him far surpassed it. All that, expressed in an eyebrow, but she understood and her eyes grew round and she ducked her head for a moment, before looking back up at him, fresh tears in her eyes.

'In sickness and in health'

His grip tightened on her hands. The fear of her loss, despite his brief talk with Doctor Clarkson, flashed in his heart. She just shook her head slightly, reassurance flowing from her eyes.

'To love and to cherish, till death do us part, according to God's holy ordinance; and thereto I plight thee my troth.'

He smiled down at her, pressing her hands tightly, amazed that they should be so near to their happiness. They were so close he could taste it. His happiness tasted … salty. He was astounded to find he was crying. Actual tears were rolling down his face as he gazed at the woman who was minutes away from becoming his wife. He made no move to dry his cheeks – he would not have broken their precious connection for anything.

Tears threatened to fall from her eyes too, but she took a deep breath and managed to keep them under control, for the moment at least, as she recited her vows.

Her voice rang out at clear as a bell, audible even in the back pews, but his ear was attuned to the emotion she felt as she spoke the words; as she promised to be his. He was amused to note the slight twist of a smile as she promised to obey, but he heard the sincerity in her voice. She meant it. She really did.

She had managed to hold her emotions together, but as she came to the words 'till death do us part' her voice cracked distinctly and she gripped tighter to his hand as she finished the sentence Mr Travis had given her. Briefly, horror flashed across her face, but was swiftly assuaged by the love that shone from his eyes directly at her. Whatever time, his eyes assured her, they had together would be blessed indeed.

Mr Travis indicated she should remove her left glove, and for the first time that day, flesh touched flesh. Both of them felt the thrill of the contact and shared a smile which was both coy and bold. Robert stepped forward to hand the ring to Charles and with great solemnity, he started to say his final words which would unite them.

'With this ring I thee wed.' His eyes gazed deep into hers.

'With my body, I thee worship' He caught the slight blush that bloomed on her face, and paused for the briefest moment to make sure she saw the truth and promise of the statement reflected in his eyes. She did. The blush deepened.

'And with all my worldly goods, I thee endow. In the name of the father, and of the Son and of the Holy Ghost', he touched the ring to each of her other fingers as he said these words and with a low 'amen' drew the ring on to the finger where it would sit for the rest of their lives.

She looked up at him, happiness radiating from her and she squeezed his hand as they turned to face Mr Travis.

'Those whom God have joined together, let no man put asunder. You may now kiss the bride.'

They had not discussed this, knowing it would be part of the service. When she had thought of it at all, Elsie had supposed it would be a formal, chaste, embrace. They were private people after all. It was one thing to kiss in his pantry, quite another to do so before their friends, colleagues and employers.

As they turned towards each other, the gleam in his eye warned her how very wrong she was. His right arm slid purposefully about her waist, whilst his left hand brushed her neck and his thumb deliberately tilted her chin up slightly. As he drew her towards him she heard his whispered 'I love you' before his lips were on hers and they shared a lingering kiss which conveyed all the emotions they felt for each other. Drawing back after a few moments, he lifted her still bare left hand to his lips and kissed it, right where the wedding ring nestled.

Turning to face the congregation, surveying them for the first time, Mrs Carson was surprised to find tears rolling down the faces of Mrs Patmore, Daisy and Lady Mary, and suspected other were struggling to keep their emotions in check. Before the moment could grow awkward, the piper struck up with the recessional music. Scotland the Brave, to be exact, which caused her to turn to face her husband in amazement, before laughing with great delight.

'Oh, you dear, _dear_ old booby!' she whispered, so only he should hear the endearment, squeezing his arm and noting how pleased he looked at having managed to surprise her twice in the space on an hour.

The two of them walked down the aisle, acknowledging all the smiling faces that surrounded them, who were delighted by the highly emotional ceremony they had witnessed.

As they reached the door, Charles nodded to the verger standing in the shadows and after they, and the piper, had passed into the porch, Elsie was surprised to find the doors shut behind them.

'I thought we could do with a moment alone to collect our thoughts.' He smiled and drew her close. 'Good afternoon, Mrs Carson.'

The smile she gave him in answer could have put the sun to shame. It lit up her entire face and her eyes shone as brightly as he had ever seen them. She stood enveloped by his arms and placed her own hands on his biceps and just started at him, before pressing her head to the middle of his chest. He could feel her body shake slightly as she allowed the tears to fall. He stood still for a moment or two, but the need to see her face overpowered him and he drew back and lifted her face so she met his eyes. She gave a short laugh, and moved to dry her cheeks.

'I don't think I've cried as much in the last twenty years as I have in the last few weeks! I promise not to make a habit of it. And the silliest thing is that I'm happy! I'm so happy Charles – I didn't realise I could be happier than on the night you proposed, but I am, and I still can't quite fathom how I deserve such happiness.'

'That makes two of us, my love. We shall just have to content ourselves with being much happier than we feel we deserve and get used to it.'

She laughed and moved to cup his face in her left hand. He felt the cool reassurance of her wedding ring and was greatly moved. His eyes darkened and his face grew serious as he contemplated the woman who stood so near him. She saw the change and finding herself without more words to express quite how much she loved him, she instead moved the hand which still rested on his face to a new position at the back of his neck.

Slowly, she drew his face down to her and, mirroring his earlier action, she whispered 'I love you' before she kissed him.

Through her kiss, which was languid, unhurried, she tied to convey all the ways she loved him, her thanks for the ways he had surprised her through the morning, and her absolute delight in the fact they were married at last. His tongue swept the inside of her mouth and she felt the shivers of pleasure run through her.

He broke away before her knees buckled completely and wrapped his arms about her tightly. He lifted her lightly off the ground and span in a full circle, his delight and ardour evident in his face. Setting her back down, his lips reclaimed hers for one last, deep, kiss before he drew back to cradle her face tenderly.

'Are you ready to go to our reception Mrs Carson?'

Mrs Carson was ready, and so her husband signalled to the piper – loitering a discreet distance away on the path – to resume his playing.

 **A/N: Oh good grief. I'm a mess. I said when I wrote Hands and Hearts (go read it, he he) that they wouldn't stop staring at each other, instead of talking. Now they won't stop CRYING. Actually, no one seems to be able to control their tears. I'm trying I really am!**

 **Sigh …. So wedding vows. Yeah, I went with the newly discovered names. I'm just going to have to get used to the fact his middle name is Earnest and her full name isn't Elspeth. *sobs*. I left out the other minister we've seen in the pics, because I don't want to second guess the reason, and Mr Travis was enough of a distraction. I don't think, in the 1920s, that the man would wear a ring, at least I couldn't find any evidence of it in my searches.**

 **Thank you to the reviewer who pointed out that a bagpiper is actually just called a piper …. Noted and fixed in this chapter.**

 **Do you all want to go to a reception? Well, I'm working on it. I tried to make this chapter solely from Charles's perspective, but Elsie would keep demanding to have her say. Similarly, with chapter 3, I've written over a page and we've not even got out of the church and Cora is dominating things at present. It's gonna be a multi perspective affair I think, I couldn't keep Isobel quiet if I tried.**

 **Annnnnyway. There you are – vows. If we even get a tiny portion of this in the episode, I will be beyond happy.**

 **There is also a nod to the Chelsie Pride tumblr challenge, because, well Jane Austen, romance and weddings are just a perfect mix.**

 **Reviews when you've a moment would be wonderful.**


	3. The Reception

**A/N: Ok, after all that emotion, hopefully this will be a little lighter. Don't bet your houses on it though. This is a Chelsie wedding we're talking about. Thank you for all the AMAZING reviews I've had so far, they blew me away. I hope this lives up to them.**

Inside the church the congregation was stirring, the sound of discrete nose blowing the most audible thing, as people tried to gather themselves so they wouldn't be revealed as soggy messes when they greeted the Carsons.

From her position at the front of the church, Cora turned to survey her staff on the other side. Miss Baxter was being handed a handkerchief by Mr Molesley, having evidently rendered her own useless. The smile she sent him gave Cora pause for a moment, but she tucked the thought away for another day. Anna was smiling broadly and caught her eye, at which point both their faces stretched impossibly wider.

The emotion was infectious it seemed, for even Barrow, Spratt and Violet could not stop the delight of the occasion showing on their faces. Denker still looked like she'd swallowed a lemon, but then Violet had shared the story of the Maid's devious rumour spreading (refusing to take any of the blame on herself) and confided she was still ruling by fear. Denker probably had a lot on her mind.

A brief flash of red caught Cora's eye and she stared at a woman she was sure she knew. Then her memory clicked in and she realised she was staring at Gwen. Mrs Carson hadn't mentioned who from outside the village she had invited, just that there might be some old faces. She had, though, firmly assured Cora that Miss O'Brien would not be receiving an invite. Cora felt her heart tighten as she looked at the woman, happily chatting to a villager, that Sybil had championed so fiercely. She would talk to her later, when her emotions had calmed.

Now she turned back to the front of the church and saw that Mrs Patmore was still dabbing at her eyes, and moved from her pew towards the woman.

'Come now, Mrs Patmore. Mrs Carson's not going to like seeing you so upset.'

I know that Milady, it's just …'

Cora stretched out a hand and laid it on her cook's shoulder, a gesture so unusual that it had the effect of stemming Mrs Patmore's tears immediately. Everything was unusual today, Cora reasoned, and the normal barriers seemed to have dissolved, for the day at least.

'Nothing's going to _change_ , not really. She's still going to be there, as much your friend as Mr Carson's wife.'

Mrs Patmore nodded and sighed, trying to settle herself, before smiling up at Cora. 'Thank you Milady.'

Their attention was drawn by the sound of music outside and the doors of the church were flung open, the congregation taking their cue to leave.

'Come on Mrs Patmore!' cried Daisy, in happy tones, shooting a shy smile at Cora and practically dragging the cook down the aisle to the doors.

Outside, the guests were trooping out of the church, chatting and laughing with each other as the Carsons stood to one side, taking it all in and responding to the various warm wishes that were directed at them.

Elsie felt a tap on her shoulder and turned to find 'Gwen! Oh, my dear – Thank you for coming! How are you?

She detached her arm from her husband, who looked slightly put out at the loss of contact, until he realised the cause, and moved to hug Gwen, who returned the embrace warmly.

'I'm very well, thank you Mrs … Carson' The slight pause caused both of the women to blush and smile before Gwen continued. 'I wouldn't have missed this for anything, although it was a near thing. My girls were playing up something rotten yesterday.'

She pointed in the direction of the graveyard where two young brunette girls were playing peekaboo with Marigold, Lady Edith keeping a watchful eye on proceedings.

Elsie laughed at the tableau and turned back to ask 'They look lovely. How old are they?'

'Sybil is ten and Anna six.'

Elsie drew in a breath as she heard the names and squeezed Gwen's arm in understanding, slightly at a loss for what to say.

'They look like they are a credit to you' interjected her husband, and she leaned her shoulder into his upper arm in silent thanks for his assistance.

'Oh, they are Mr Carson!' beamed Gwen. 'Although their father would disagree when they get stubborn.'

'Much like their mother then' laughed Elsie. 'There's Lady Grantham', she said, her sharp eyes noting the movement of everyone in the churchyard. 'Why don't you go and say hello. Better to get the first painful moment over with. We'll chat later.'

Gwen nodded and moved off to Cora.

Elsie took Charles's arm again, relishing the fact he immediately grasped her hand, and smiled up at him. 'Don't you think we ought to move to the reception?'

'All in good time my love. Besides, we've still got one more tradition to complete before we leave.'

She could not fathom what he meant and was bemused by the fact he appeared to be searching someone out from the crowd. Lord Grantham came to his aid, pushing through the throng, and pointed back towards the church. 'He's over there Carson.'

'Who is?' enquired Elsie as they moved back the way they had come.

'The photographer', Charles said with a little flourish of his hand, indicating the man himself, whom Elsie hadn't noticed before.

'But I thought we weren't …' she paused and shook her head and looked up at him with loving amusement in her eyes. 'That's the third surprise today. You've evidently learned how to keep secrets!'

'I doubt it's an ability I'll retain!' he responded happily as the photographer positioned them in front of the church doors, one of which still stood slightly ajar. The first pose was formal and they stood quite soberly, the essence of respectability. Charles already knew the photograph would take pride of place on his desk, and in a certain frame, which was infinitely more dear now than when it had been presented to him.

'Now, if you could turn a little so that you can look at each other', instructed the photographer. 'And move slightly apart. Yes, that's it. Mrs Carson, if you could just bring your bouquet up a bit, just so, we wouldn't want to miss those. Now, if you would look at each other, and Mrs Carson if you could imagine Mr Carson's said something slightly absurd but very loving.'

'Wouldn't be the first time' she murmured, so only he could hear her, and the tender humour was evident in her smile, whilst his admiration for her shone clearly from his face. _This_ was the picture which graced Mrs Carson's desk, a daily reminder of the deep love which ran underneath the formal veneer of their relationship.

'That's quite enough of that' Elsie declared as the photographer made to move them into another position. 'Charles, we really ought to be moving to the school house. I'm sure the Dowager could do with a seat, and I'm a little chilled if I'm honest.

'As my wife commands' he said seriously and turned to his left. 'Strike up piper!' he called, before moving forward to Robert.

'We're going to process over to the school house now, as I explained Milord. Could you ensure everyone knows what's happening?'

He turned back to his wife who was staring at him openly.

'What?'

'How is it you know if that particular Scottish tradition?'

'I'm in the business of knowing the proper way of things' he said, smiling a little smugly. 'But I might have had tip off from Doctor Clarkson when I went to ask him about finding me a piper.'

'I see' she said, pursing her lips in amusement. 'And here was I thinking I knew what this day was going to be like!'

He chuckled and lifted her hand to his lips briefly before gesturing down the path. 'Shall we?'

Some while later, the wedding party was grouped in a large semi circle, glasses of champagne in hand, listening attentively as Robert continued his duties as best man and made a speech.

'It occurred to me that I would not be doing this remarkable couple justice if I focussed solely on Mr Carson, and so I hope you will allow me to break with tradition slightly. I must first acknowledge the help of my wife, who thought there were perhaps a few too many cricket references. I will freely admit that when I first heard the news that Carson was going to be married, I was flabbergasted. Then, I was informed that Mrs Hughes was his chosen bride and I realised how much sense it made. They have, after all, built a long partnership over the last twenty years. Carson was with me when I made my own venture into married life and has seen me navigate the matrimonial waters ever since. I don't dare suggest he has learned well, for we all make mistakes. But in Mrs Carson, as I am now very pleased to call her, he has found a woman who acts very like Lady Grantham does to me. Mrs Carson cares for him deeply, challenges him when he prefers to stick to the old ways, and supports him at all times. Mr Carson may have bowled this maiden over, but none of us can be in any doubt that he is batting far above his average.

I invite you to raise your glasses to Mr and Mrs Carson.'

The entire company echoed his toast and the Carsons themselves clinked their glasses together and took a sip of champagne, both very touched by the high praise which had been bestowed on them.

Charles cleared his throat and squared his shoulders, before raising his eyes.

'Surprising as it may be to some, I find that I've not been able to find the right words to adequately express quite how happy I am. How happy Mrs Carson has made me by becoming my wife.'

He turned towards her and spoke the next words directly to her, although they were audible to everyone in the room.

'Elsie Carson, thank you for being my better self, the light at the end of every day and the most beautiful woman of my acquaintance. I love you, very, very much.'

He bent towards her and lightly brushed her lips with his before he turned back to his guests.

'Ladies and Gentlemen, I give you Mrs Elsie Carson.'

In the brief silence that followed the toast a small voice, with a slight American twang to it, rang out from the back of the hall.

'Why is everyone toasting Mrs Hughes?'

Mary whirled around to face the newcomer and Daisy's face lit up in a surprised smile. There, in the doorway, stood none other than Tom Branson.

'Well that's my cover blown! Is this a private party or can anyone join in?'

Elsie, with the tears from her husband's earlier words still shining in her eyes, gasped with delight as she saw precisely who it was and handed her glass to Charles with shaking hands, her face lit up smiles. She moved forward, but didn't get very far, for Sybbie ran towards her, and very soon her arms were filled with the small girl. 'Mr Branson!' she said, her voice full of emotion, 'I never thought to see you here. We're so pleased, aren't we Charles?'

She turned to her husband, who had somehow dispensed with both glasses and was now by her side. Any worry she might have had that he would disapprove of her exuberant greeting was swept aside by the large smile her husband wore and the fact he immediately held his hand out to shake Tom's.

'We are indeed. It means a lot to both of us.'

'Might I kiss the bride, Mr Carson?' grinned Tom cheekily, fully expecting a rebuff.

'I don't see why not, as long as you give her back. Why doesn't Miss Sybbie come with me and we'll go have a chat with Donk.'

Charles moved to take the child from his wife's arms and smiled down at her. 'Don't be long' he whispered in her ear.

Elsie smiled, and then refocussed her attention on Tom. 'I still can't quite believe it!'

'Well, I'm here. You look wonderful, Mrs Carson. Marriage clearly suits you!'

She laughed, shaking her head at his flattery, moving forwards to give him a kiss on the cheek. 'There, now the bride has kissed you, and broken with tradition once more! I think Lady Mary is anxious to say hello'

With that, she chivvied Tom off to say hello to the rest of the family and went to reclaim her husband who had been joined by Isobel and Violet, both eager to see their little Sybbie.

'Ah, Mrs Carson' her husband said, smiling down at her, as she stood next to him. 'What do you say to a little dance?'

The gramophone had been brought from the abbey for the occasion and Mr Molesley stood ready and waiting to set the music running. Once again, the guests moved into a semi circle and Mr Carson led his wife into the middle of the room.

Charles laid one hand on her waist and took her left hand in his right, drawing her quite near to him. A soft lilting waltz sounded out from across the room and all at once they were moving across the floor, swaying slightly. Round and round they span, eyes only for each other, relishing in the contact they shared and delighting in the way the action seemed to heighten the love they felt. At first they did not speak, were just content to be, but then the piper in the corner flashed into Elsie's vision and she squeezed his hand.

I wonder, my love, if we might get the piper to play some reels? I'm sure we could get Doctor Clarkson to perform the role of caller. It might all be a bit of a mess, but everyone would have great fun.'

She had expected him to dismiss the idea, or protest he didn't know the steps and didn't want to appear foolish. She was therefore surprised when he looked over at the piper too and murmured 'Yes, I suppose we might.'

Once their dance had ended, they moved towards the doctor to fill him in on their idea, and he readily agreed. They explained to their guests, suggesting that those who knew what they were doing might partner those who did not. Elsie noted a brief flash of something cross Lady Mary's face before she smiled brightly.

'I hope it doesn't upset you too much, Milady.

Mary looked surprised and would have denied anything was wrong, but she saw the knowing look in the other's eyes and capitulated, shaking her head slightly. 'It does and it doesn't Mrs Carson. Matthew and I had some very happy times dancing, and he would be laughing in memory of my stubbornness back then if he were here. I'm very happy to dance a reel at your wedding.'

'I'm glad. Let's see what we can manage with this motley crew!'

Elsie moved back to her husband who, she noted, wasn't looking at all nervous, and waited to hear what Doctor Clarkson would decide on.

The man in question clapped his hands together to draw everyone's attention. 'Right, I think we'll start with something fairly easy – the Circassian Circle. If everyone could form into a wide circle and make sure it goes man, woman, man, woman.'

The guests all followed his instructions quickly, and Elsie was surprised to note that even the Dowager appeared to have decided to join in, at least for the beginning.

'Right, thank you. So, first of all, everyone takes four steps into the middle, claps their hands, then four steps back. Repeat that. Then the women on their own repeat the action, then the men on their own. Then as the men turn back they turn to their left, take the hands of the woman in that position, two steps to the left, two steps to the right, repeat and then take her into ballroom hold, and spin around for sixteen beats. Then, still in couples you go for a walk about the room, until you're halfway round, and then it starts all over again.'

Doctor Clarkson paused to take in the faces of the crowd. 'Have you all got that?'

'I think so!' came some brave voices.

'Right, well, let's have a crack at it, and hang on to your hats, because the reeling gets faster as you go!'

The bagpipes started and chaos reigned with people bashing into each other as they forgot their left from right and got terribly dizzy as they span around. The music cut out as Doctor Clarkson laughed at the flustered faces before him.

'Perhaps you need to see how it's done. Mr and Mrs Carson, might I persuade you?'

'I'm not sure that would be …' Elsie started to demure before finding herself firmly pulled into hold.

'We'll skip the first bit' he declared and motioned to the piper to start up again before presenting his hands to his wife.

She took them, with a look of amused distrust in her eyes, and listened as the music started up, mentally counting the beat, and was surprised when he started to move at the exact moment the music suggested. He moved to the side fluidly and then span her around fairly fast, but not so that she felt the need to grip to him and then moved to her side to accompany her around the room, before repeating the whole dance again, this time spinning her around so fast the room blurred and she laughed with delight.

The music came to a stop as they stilled and their guests burst out into spontaneous applause. Elsie put her hand to her chest to try and still her heartbeat and looked at her husband who had managed to surprise her so many times that she had lost count.

'Where', she asked breathlessly, 'did you learn to dance like that without my knowledge?'

He looked very pleased with himself and nodded over to one side of the room. 'Anna's been teaching me after the upstairs breakfast was completed.'

Elsie span around to look for the woman, and mouthed 'Well done' when she caught her eye.

'Shall we try again everyone?' called Doctor Clarkson and soon enough the sound of bagpipes mixed with the hilarity of people getting their steps wrong filled the school house.

Many, many reels later Elsie noted that the light was starting to fade. Beside her, Charles also noted the hours had slipped by, and wondered whether it might not be time to leave. They weren't going far, just a hotel in York, but he was more than ready to be alone with his bride.

'Do you think we should be leaving?' she asked, surprising him with the synchronicity of their thoughts. He merely nodded.

'Right, well, there's just one more tradition to dispense with.' She moved away to find Lady Grantham and very soon all the women were moving into the middle of the hall to await the throwing of the bouquet.

Elsie scanned the various faces, wondering if she could direct the flowers to someone in particular. This was going to be tricky, given the precarious romantic history of many of the women in the room. Her aim was never that good, however, she reasoned. Let the bouquet fall where it may.

'Are you all ready?' She turned her back to the group of women and sent a smile to Charles who was watching the proceedings with amusement.

Mrs Carson flung the bouquet over her head as hard as she could. She heard the whoosh as it sailed through the air, and then a gasp as it landed in someone's arms. There was total silence. That wasn't good. She turned around in some trepidation to find Isobel's arms full of flowers, where they had dropped without her having to reach for them at all.

'Well goodness me' Isobel said quietly, looking up at Elsie with some amusement mixed with pain on her face.

There was a momentary pause and then Isobel gathered herself, and tugged at one of the roses.

'It hardly feels fair to be the sole recipient of such bounty. Edith, Mary, here you are.' She handed both the women a rose each, and then moved about the others picking out roses, heather and ferns as she decided best suited their characters.

'If you dare give me _anything_ from that bouquet, I will strike you with my stick.'

'What about a thistle, cousin Violet?' Isobel asked with a seriousness that did not reach her eyes. 'It suits you so well.'

The dowager rolled her eyes, but smiled, taking the offered thistle. 'Just this once.'

The car to take them to the station for their train to York stood outside. Every guest came to see them off, as they settled into the back seats.

As it drove off, Elsie turned to her husband, smiled and nestled happily into his waiting arms. She felt the kiss he placed on her hair and thrilled to the fact that they were actually married. And alone.

 **A/N: Oh goodness, that was hard. Nothing wanted to be written at all. I'm still trying not to be swayed by the pictures that have been released, but the two pictures I described are very much based on those. But I didn't like the idea of there being a sit down lunch (as shown by the picture of Molseley) so I've ignored the food (everyone must be starving, oh dear).**

 **I've been planning on writing a series of fics about dancing, with the first one being Anna teaching Mr Carson how to reel for his wedding, but it's just not happened. Then today, Revfrog and Deeedeee were talking about it, and I thought, hey, why not. They said Daisy, but my head canon is Anna. That part is for them. (At least, I think it was them, but the black hole that is tumblr has destroyed any hope of me finding it, so if it was someone else, then this part is dedicated to you too!)**

 **I am possibly planning a little half wedding night epilogue, but I don't know if I'll get to it before I go on holiday VERY early on Saturday. I've still got to pack. And apply for a job I really want, so we'll see.**

 **Oh, I do hope you liked this. A review or two would be charming.**


	4. Epilogue: Prelude to a Wedding Night

**A/N: What happens once you're married and you've left the reception behind? Songs running through my head (because they were being played in the café where I was writing and trying not to blush) 'She' and 'Strangers in the night'.**

They were alone. After a short train journey to York where they had indulged in nothing more than the pleasure of sitting close together, hands clasped, they had arrived at the Royal York Hotel. They had been welcomed and shown to the spacious room which had been a gift from Mrs Crawley. Someone, Elsie rather suspected Beryl, had thought to call ahead and ensure an ample spread of cold cuts, fruit and a fine bottle of Port awaited them.

So, they were alone. More alone than they had ever been. There were no footmen to come barging in with an imagined drama, no maids to discipline, and best of all, no family to serve. There was no one to please but themselves.

Elsie stood in the middle of the room, taking it all in. she admired the dark green curtains at the windows, which matched the little sofa against one wall and the bed cover, whilst the walls were papered in a lighter green, vines picked out in gold. Charles leaned against the bed, she noted, his hand absentmindedly followed the stitched pattern on the cover.

He was gazing at her, happy to watch as she committed the room to memory.

'What?' She laughed self-consciously, curious to know that it was that held his thoughts.

'Have I told you how very beautiful you look?'

'Not in so many words, although your eyes are very eloquent on the subject. The way you looked at me when I was walking down the aisle Charles …'

The moment replayed in her head, and her attention drifted slightly, so she was surprised when she felt a hand brush against her cheek. Her eyes snapped back to his and her heart contracted as she read the emotions that whirled in their depths.

He continued stroking her cheek as she looked at him, his hand so broad that he also managed to sweep his thumb along her neck, which caused her heart to skip a beat. As he touched her, his voice rumbled lowly. 'You were more beautiful today than you have ever been. Do you know why?'

She shook her head, words out of reach as her mouth went dry and her pulse jumped in anticipation. His thumb was still stroking her neck.

'It wasn't just the clothes, although they are undeniably lovely.' His eyes swept her body appreciatively. She blushed and almost gasped as she felt a tremor running through her. He was barely touching her, but she suddenly felt his phantom hands in places he had never dared roam. Her breathing grew shallower and she fought every impulse to look away, to deny him the knowledge if how she was affected. She looked into his eyes, unknowingly parting her lips slightly, and saw all of her desire reflected back at her.

'Not just your clothes. Nor your stunning hair', he brought his other hand up to the coiffure in question and lightly dislodged a strand so that she was suddenly more dishevelled before him than she ever had been.

'It was your face. Radiant with love, so happy, with just a hint of trepidation. You glowed, Elsie. You shone like the guiding light you are and assured me that in you, I had come home.'

'You saw all of that in the thirty seconds it took me to reach you?' she whispered, placing both her hands to his heart in a gesture of devotion. Awed by his precious words, she hardly knew how she could live up to them.

'It felt like an hour, but I would have waited an eternity if I was guaranteed you would be mine at the end of it.'

They stood, looking at each other for a few moments more, and then his eyes lowered to her lips and before either of them could register moving, as if they were magnetically drawn to each other, their lips met.

They had kept their passions on a low heat during the day, even the private moment outside the church had been restrained, but now each felt the freedom of their solitude and the permission, given by the ceremony, to indulge their feelings.

Their lips melded together, shifting as he angled his head another way. His hand had left her neck and both his arms were wrapped about her, spanning her back and moving over the corset he could feel beneath her dress, and the upper part of her back, where felt the soft dip of her flesh. Her own arms were almost trapped by the close embrace, but she managed to slide them up so that they wrapped about his neck and her fingers splayed into his hair.

He groaned, breaking away from her lips, moving to her neck, which he kissed repeatedly. He ran a hand down the length of the side of her corset and moved back to her mouth, nipping lightly at her bottom lip.

Her breathy 'Oh Charles' told him how affected she was, as if he hadn't been able to discern the fact by the way she trembled in his arms, and so he was not unduly surprised when she pulled back, resting a hand on his chest and told him she needed a moment.

'If I don't sit down, I feel as if I might faint!' She laughed wryly at her own frailty, and moved towards the sofa, indicating she wished him to join her by the way she kept hold of his hand. She sank down on the sofa and took a long breath, before she looked at him, smiling so that he might be reassured.

Their hands were still clasped and she drew them upwards so she could kiss the top of his reverentially.

'You know I love you, don't you Charles?'

As he moved to protest that of course he knew, she squeezed his hand to let him know the question was rhetorical.

'I'm very good at dispensing advice, but not at all adept when it comes to expressing my emotions when you are involved. What you said at the reception and tonight … you have _such_ eloquence Charles. I don't know if I can be so poetic, but I want you to know I love you. I adore you. You mean the world to me and I have no idea how ii managed to keep my love locked up for so long. You said I was your better self. Well, you complete me.'

She pressed another kiss to his hand and then leaned forward to capture his lips for a brief but ardent embrace before she drew back to whisper 'I am completely, desperately, passionately in love with you Charles.'

There was nothing else to do, after that declaration, but draw her towards him and kiss her soundly. The murmurs of pleasure both of them made fuelled their kisses and their hands tangled, his in her hair, hers in the folds of his jacket as they tentatively danced the passionate steps of love.

His hands, indeed, seemed to take on a mind of their own, for they moved before he was even aware. Only her gasp and the tightening of her own hand on his shoulder, beneath his jacket he noted delightedly, caused him to realise he had brushed the top of her thigh through her dress, and was drawing small circles down towards her knee.

She felt the new position of his hand and sighed in delight, her head tipping back to rest on the edge of the sofa. The pleasure she felt was abruptly curtailed by a sharp pain in her head, and then she remembered the combs which adorned her hair. She sat up.

'I think I need to remove these combs!' she laughed, and then thought about the _other_ things that needed to be dispensed with. Taking a decision then and there, she looked at her husband, then half lowered her lashes. 'The dress might have served its purpose too.'

He sucked in a breath at the implication of her words, but before he could ask if she meant them, she had risen from the sofa and moved to stand in front of the long mirror, which was placed discretely in the corner.

'Will you help me Charles?'

He stood, and paused only to shrug off his jacket. He stood behind her and, for a moment, neither of them moved, but shared a heated look in the reflection of the mirror. Not breaking eye contact, he drew one hand from her hairline down the long row of button he would soon release, and then placed a kiss to the hollow of her neck.

'Just to be clear, my darling, that the removal of your dress does not therefore mean we have crossed the Rubicon. If you want to stop, we will.'

She smiled tightly and nodded, but gave him no verbal answer, instead she merely said 'The combs first, Charles.'

He nodded and pulled the two combs free, laying them delicately on the dressing table, before turning back and surprising her by proceeding to pull out the pins that held her hair in place. Slowly he unfurled her hair. When he started to unwind the plait, she gasped at his intention.

'It'll tangle Charles.'

'Then I'll brush it. I want to see you as nobody else has, or ever will.'

It was the work of a moment and then she stood in front of him, her auburn hair, shot through with a touch of silver, cascading down her back, trying to read his expression in the mirror. She thought she discerned tears and turned in concern, only to find his lips crashing down to hers in a sudden passionate display.

'Stunning' he whispered as he drew back and span her so she faced the mirror again. He moved her hair over her shoulder, so that it hung, Godiva like, over her curves and then deftly undid the topmost button of her dress.

As he worked, he placed a kiss or brief caress, as the mood took him, to her revealed skin, which was thrilling to her and set her shivering in anticipation. As he worked lower, he found the barrier of her corset, and in a whisper she gave him permission to loosen that too.

The buttons were undone in minutes but he made no move to remove the dress. Instead he stood, his hands on her shoulders, connecting with her eyes in the mirror, silently telling her it was her choice to make. Slowly, she tugged at the fabric at her wrists and pulled her arms from their wrappings, before she let the fabric fall to the floor about her feet. She heard his intake of breath as he glimpsed the top of her bosom, rising and falling quickly as her breathing quickened. She saw his eyes darken as he took in her semi clad form and felt his hands on her hips as they unconsciously sought to tough where before her clothes had always formed a barrier.

Placing her hands on top of his, she guided them until they wrapped about her, and placed his hands at the top of her corset where the fastenings started.

Both of them were breathing shallowly and he didn't dare expend energy on asking if he could really do what she was indicating. Instead he pulled her slightly closer and used the mirror as his guide to undo the fastening of the last proper barrier to his wife. Soon it joined the dress on the floor. Only her shift remained.

Turning in his arms, she took care to step out of the circle of fabric, and with shaking fingers removed his tie and undid the first two buttons of his shirt.

Before she could proceed any further, however, he pulled her flush to him, his growing desire totally evident to her, and kissed her ardently.

There was no stopping the roaming of his hands now and she groaned as one of them brushed the side of her breast. He did it again, more deliberately, and she groaned again. He repeated the action a third time, drawing his tongue along her collarbone as he did so, and she felt her knees buckle.

'Charles' she whispered, as she gripped his shoulder, emitting another groan as he brushed her nipple.

'Charles – take me to bed …'

 **A/N: That's it ….. I can't go any further. Major kudos to those that can write full sex scenes, but I seem to be incapable, or at least when it comes to these two. I think there might be a part of me that worries the LA Times (or Graham Norton) will find it, and force them to read it. But I hope you enjoyed the lead up. I think they'll do alright, don't you?**

 **Reviews would be amazing, if you're so inclined.**


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